Don't Look at Me Like That
by LeSass
Summary: It's Rory's wedding day and nothing feels right - from the clouds in the sky to the man standing next to her. Still, she's going through with it. But fate has a funny way of intervening, and all it takes is a few conveniently placed raindrops and a love from her past to shake things up a bit.
1. A bride does not a wedding make

**AN** : I don't own Gilmore girls. Reviews are _super_ welcome :)

* * *

Her heart beats wildly in her chest as she peers around the corner. The music is loud and people are looking back towards where she is expected to enter. She's hidden from view, but she feels so naked. She is about to walk out in front of the eyes of everyone who has ever cared about her - almost - and make a grand entrance.

"Hey, no peeking," somebody says beside her. The voice registers before the face does, and she glances apologetically at her father.

He grabs her hand and rubs it gently.

"Don't be nervous, you look beautiful," he assures her, smiling as proud as any Papa bear could. This makes her smile too, but it doesn't reassure her any more. It's not a matter of beauty, but of publicly declaring something so finite in front of so many people.

Suddenly the notes change and it's her cue, it's her moment. Her father offers his arm, gentlemanly, and she takes it, holding her breath. It's now or never, she knows, but she mentally disconnects from her feet as they follow her dad out into plain sight.

She is smiling brightly, as all brides should, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She's thankful that the only people who know her eyes well aren't close enough to see. Her glance shifts back and forth in a feral panic, watching the faces around her so happy, so tearful, so excited for her.

Their looks are killing her on the inside, making her feel ungrateful and small. It isn't their fault - it's entirely in her head - but she can't help it. _And it's not even nice outside_ , she mutters inwardly, looking up at the sky. It looks as if it could rain any moment, and she had always wanted to get married on a sunny day.

She catches her mother's eye, along with her best friend's, who then exchange glances between the two of them. She swallows as her dad kisses her on the cheek, wraps her in a warm embrace, and untangles himself to posit her next to this man she calls her fiance.

Her eyes soften at how brightly he's looking at her. His eyes show nothing but promise and expectation. He is exuberant and elated, and she softens and calms down. She matches his smile and turns to face the pastor, feeling a shiver go down her spine. Her smile drops once he's no longer facing her, and despite trying to suck the energy radiating off of her partner, she admits that it isn't contagious and this feels wrong.

She feels her mom reach out an arm to her shoulder, but she makes it a point to ignore her. She knows if her mom sees her eyes, really sees what's there, she will have the courage to run away from this wedding and bolt so far away that they'll need a hunting dog to find her. Her mom always gave her courage to do the scary things, the risky things, the very not-Rory things.

The ceremonial jargon begins. She misses most of it as she wills her heart to shut up, annoyed at how loudly it's beating in her chest, consumed by the heartbeat pulsating in her ears. It feels so surreal.

Forever feels so long. So final and scary and big and impossible to swallow. She doesn't blame her mom for not providing a good example. She, too, didn't know what forever could look like and hadn't sustained a successful marriage.

But she knows it has nothing to do with her mother and everything to do with trying to convince herself that what is comfortable is what is right. That didn't work out in her first relationship as a teenager; it blew up in her face and then stuck around to bite her in the ass in college.

As she thinks about this, she can't help but hate herself a little. She remembers what it felt like with the next guy who came around, which is part of why everything blew up. With him, it was fierce and unpredictable, tense and tender all at once. It was an adventure. _It was a frustrating adventure though_ , she reasons with herself. He never expressed his feelings, dipped out on her when it mattered most for them to be in communication, and it had been weird ever since. From asking her to run away with him to knocking sense into her about dropping out of Yale, things were never simple with him.

She frowns even more. He was the one person she had had the most turmoil over inviting; there was so much unspoken tension there, so much that was never explored. Yes she'd said no, multiple times, even, but it was _him_. He never wavered in his affection for her. And so of course it didn't shock her when the invitation didn't come back. She had expected this much. Nothing was cut and dry when it came to that man.

Were things simple with her fiance? He was a mixture of the two, calm and gentle and sweet but an unpredictable, on-a-whim kind of guy. He had the jealousy of the first one, the ability to shut down like the second. She steals a glance at him and thinks of how much she loves him. She knows she does. He's good to her. Not always, sometimes he's impossible, but he has grown with her over the last few years. He provided for her when times got rough, he walked her through the Yale and fighting-with-her-mom crisis, he was never too stubborn to apologize. And she can tell just in the way he looks at her that he would do so much for her. It's right, isn't it? To marry the person who knows you best?

 _Does he know me best? Is that even possible? I barely know anymore._

His eyes crinkle as he catches her glance, smiling, and he reaches for her hand and squeezes it gently. Her heart flutters. Moments like this make it feel right. But she can't help but notice that the flutters die as quickly as they rise, butterflies caught in a rainstorm. Do the butterflies die when the person who knows you best looks at you? Or is that a symptom of something scarier than being known - committing to somebody who doesn't know you as well as you'd like?

A seed of doubt is gnawing at her, clawing her insides. She feels like she shouldn't be up here in front of all of these people. She focuses back in on the pastor but hearing his words scares her back into obliviousness. If she hears his words, the promises he's beginning to ask them to make, she will crumble.

As she looks at him again, this man who has brought out terrible and great things in her, she is sad. This isn't what it's supposed to feel like when you get married, she's certain of that. This isn't fair to him; she's also certain of that, because the joy exuding from every pore of his being is barely an iota of all of her emotions.

She's thinking, over thinking, making and remaking lists in her head, pros and cons of marriage that she made for days before agreeing to marry him. Suddenly the cons multiply before her in such a manifestation of doubt and insecurity and wrongness that she feels sick. Her vision blurs and she looks past him, past his expectant eyes.

And that's when fate plays such a hideous trick on her, because when her eyes refocus, there's a tree. There's a tree and _he_ 's leaning against it, far enough not to be noticed and close enough to see everything. They lock eyes and her breath catches in her throat. Time stands still and she can't see or hear anyone or anything but him, the suit that deliciously accentuates the features he's grown into as a man, and the tree that shoulders the weight of his longing.

His eyes haven't changed. They still look at her the same. In spite of the rejection she's sewn into them, exposed them to and let them ingest, they still look at her like she's the best thing in the world, the most beautiful bride there ever was. Eyes that see her in all of her un-togetherness and still don't close on her.

That seed of doubt that had been growing is moisturized and nurtured by his look, and it blossoms furiously in her chest. Her heart picks up its pace again and she feels thrilled; this unpredictability, his ability to surprise her, is something of which she can never grow tired. A different girl would see this behavior as almost stalker like, but it's different with him. He sees through her and it would be wrong for him to expose himself, his thoughts or intentions. He knows she needs him but can't, won't have him around, that the life they could've almost had is not a simple endeavor.

She stares, holding back her surprise and delight because she knows it will alarm her fiance standing only inches beside her. She inhales deeply, their gaze intense and familiar. He smirks and shifts, his arms still folded against his chest. His smirk is the same as it always was, always is when she sees him every few months or years by chance. It's impossible to look at anything else but him.

It's subtle, but he nods his head to the left, a small invitation to talk.

It takes all of her willpower not to gawk or furrow her eyebrows. He had some nerve! She cannot believe that he's actually suggesting she walk out of the ceremony to _talk_ to him, this very moment, _seconds_ before she is supposed to offer her fiance "I do." She settles for pursing her lips, slightly shaking her head, and for the first time since they've had this staring contest, his eyes soften.

He shifts again and shoves his hands in his pockets, sets his feet, and gives her a look. It tells her how absurd this is, how crazy it is that she's getting married to this rich chump, how this whole wedding _so_ isn't her. She hates him for a moment, grilling him with her eyes. She hates that she can still read his thoughts from the way he looks at her, and she hates that she actually likes that he knows she still can. She widens her eyes a little at him, almost begging him to tell her what other option she has, that he's crazy, that he has no right to look at her like that.

He appears to suck his teeth, decides something in his head, and starts walking closer. She is confused and alarmed and immediately turns her attention back to the pastor. His words are finally registering in her head; it's no longer a foreign language but very clear to her, and he's asking if anyone objects to their union.

She looks at her mom and best friend in a panic, who have at this point caught on and have seen the man coming closer. Just as he is close enough to call out and have it be heard, just as he is opening his mouth, her mother springs into action.

"De-uhh," her mother starts, trying to draw attention away from the only moving object at the ceremony. But this is the moment for objections, and every head immediately turns towards her, shocked and waiting.

"Heh, uh, sorry, it's just that, I uh, I can't find the ring," she offers, laughing nervously and looking around at her feet for good measure. She elbows the best friend.

"Oh, wow, yeah, it's really missing!" She exclaims, taking the time to bend over to move her fingers through the grass. There are whispers in the crowd, and the groom looks more than mildly unhappy. Their dog, a skittish little thing, suddenly becomes an important part of this diversion. Her best friend mumbles an apology under her breath before stepping on the back of the dog's heel, which sends him flying down the aisle to the opposite field.

"Oh, Paul Anka has it!" She screeches, pointing at the dog.

"Wow, we better go get him!" Her mother adds, and the two take off in their dresses, ditching their heels to chase Paul Anka across the grass. The bride-to-be almost sputters in laughter, seeing how absurd this all is and appreciating so tremendously that she has a mother and best friend willing to help her out in a rough patch.

A few men in the audience, others close to her life, go chasing after the women, which only scares the dog more. People on the bride's side are cracking up, while those on the groom's side just watch with disdain. It is clear this is not the civil way to have a wedding.

"Can't we just do this without the rings...?" The groom-to-be speaks up, turning to her, clearly frustrated at the commotion.

Suddenly she finds her voice and turns hurriedly to him.

"No, it needs to be perfect!" She says almost too quickly. He looks at her strangely and she adds, softer this time, "Shouldn't it be perfect?"

He searches her face, unsure of her tone, but nods. They watch the circus happening to their left, and as if fate couldn't be any more on time and in touch with her feelings, there is a loud crack in the sky.

She looks up and realizes that the clouds have shifted in these moments that have felt like lifetimes; this gloomy day that matched her gloomy mood is quickly turning into something more sinister, more unbelievable as a raindrop gets her square in the eye.

Within seconds, the crowd stands up, murmuring and starting to scoot out of their seats. Her mother's boyfriend, somebody she's known better than her own father, immediately begins directing traffic back towards her mother's inn.

She forgets to look at her fiance in the panic and confusion and instead looks for the one who caused this small chaos. She sees him look up, give her the most sheepish of smirks, and back away before breaking into a run in the opposite direction of the inn.

Her fiance grabs her hand to run inside with her.

She looks at him, startled that he found her, the anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach.

She tugs back on his hand for a second, stopping him.

"Sorry," she says to him seriously, with a sad smile that she knows he won't see as sad, but apologetic.

"It's not your fault, Ace," he says, holding his hand above his head haphazardly to block out the thick raindrops. "Let's get inside!"

She inhales deeply, willing herself to say something more about how she can't go inside, at least not with him, but by now her mother and best friend have come back to usher them along. Her mother breaks up the hand holding by coming up between them. She makes a small, rushed joke about how they should have gotten a cover band for the Temptations or BJ Thomas to play during the ceremony, and pushes them down the aisle as the rain picks up.

The best friend and her mother switch places, and she watches as her best friend guides her groom-to-be up the back of the stairs. Her mother turns to her, putting her hands on either side of her shoulders.

"Go," she tells her firmly, and nods in the direction that the man had run in. She exchanges a look with her mom, amazed at how she can always give her a little bit of clarity, and then turns to run after him.

She can't say for certain, but something about the rain and running in it reminds her so much of him, of a certain sprinkler incident, of a certain series of getting-to-know-you sessions, of finalizing things with him, that she instinctively knows where he's going.

She takes her own short cut and runs through the town square, knowing full well that when she comes out of the clearing, past the woods and everything else, that she will find him waiting for her on the bridge where it all began.

She doesn't have to figure anything out, there are no surprises that she is expecting.

For the first time when it comes to him, it's actually very cut and dry, and she laughs about the irony as she runs through the rain, dodging puddles.


	2. Find him in the old oak tree

Her hair is plastered to her face but she doesn't care. Chasing after him is the only sense of normal she has felt all day; it feels familiar searching for him, like she's a teenager again.

She doesn't really know what she's expecting, or even why she's following him. She just knows that she has always felt this intangible force that draws her in when he resurfaces, and she can't help but explore it every time.

It's too tempting to pass, she thinks as she rounds the bush that will lead her to the clearing they knew so well as teenagers.

Even if they have nothing to say in words, they have a million ways to speak with their eyes, and maybe she just needs some silence to set her head straight about today. But that kind of silence has to come from him, because he's been the only one to make her figure herself out when she couldn't.

She pushes through the leaves, frowning as a stray branch attacks her hair. It's nearly impossible with how the rain is coming down now, but she manages to untangle herself and push her bangs out of her face.

She's searching now at the clearing. He's not on the bridge; no, of course not, it's raining. She scolds herself for thinking that he's stupid enough to sit without shelter and welcome the impromptu shower. She takes the time to catch her breath while she's scanning for him. Running was never her strong suit, and if she'd be honest, neither was power walking.

She finally settles on a large oak tree that's just past the bridge, one she remembers lying under with him, just reading. She smiles and decides that she can walk to the tree; it's not as if running got her any less wet.

* * *

His mind is racing, but he's determined to hold it together. He sees her coming into the clearing and allows himself to smile. He knows he's a bit impulsive, but he also knows that she is too, deep down.

He hadn't planned to come to her wedding. He didn't want to see her kiss and exchange vows with the rich dick he knew wasn't good enough for her. He didn't want to admit that even though he wasn't hanging on her existence anymore, he definitely didn't want to see her commit her life to somebody else. Some things between the two of them were too complicated; he nearly choked on Cheerios when he had received the invitation, not having paid attention to who it was from.

He reaches into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and grimaces, his eyebrows furrowing. Soaked, too.

He still didn't know why he had come. Maybe he really was a masochist like Luke had always joked. Maybe he just wanted closure, to know that things were done between them. Not that being in a relationship had stopped her from kissing him, with the bag-boy or the rich douche. Or maybe, which he decides is probably most true for who they are to each other, he just wanted to see her and see if his presence changed anything about the decision she was making.

* * *

She walks over to the tree, remembering that a storm cut a deep rift in the trunk, pulling a few branches down far enough to climb and sit without visibility. She figures he's above her, that's he's been watching her walk up, and it thrills her a little. She decides this isn't a romantic thrill, but one that is unique to his eyes being on her, making her feel both vulnerable and sheltered at once.

She looks up and her heart catches in her throat again. His eyes are intense, and he's gazing at her in such a thoughtful way that she almost blushes. She swallows hard and frowns, biting her lip.

"What?" His voice is soft from above her. She is startled by the noise, having fully expected an awkward exchange of "hi" for the first two minutes of their reunion.

"I'm in a dress," she says pointedly.

"That's observant of you," he offers. She glares at him but her eyes soften when she sees the laughter in his eyes.

"I'm in a _dress_ ," she emphasizes, motioning towards the tree. "And heels, now that I feel the blister forming," she adds as an afterthought, grumbling towards her toes.

"You chased me all the way in heels. I'm flattered," he smirks.

"Are you going to help me up?" She says flatly, crossing her arms.

He considers this. It sounds a little terrifying to touch her, but he feels stupid for feeling this way. He'd touched more than her hand when they were younger.

"You're so _needy_ ," he deadpans before offering his hand.

She hesitates and looks at him, unsure. She's comforted when she sees the same look on his face and shakes her head. She pulls her dress up with her right hand and takes his hand with her left. He swallows, seeing more of her legs than he has in a long time, but easily hoists her up to sit next to him.

They both take a deep breath, ignoring each other for a few seconds. He thinks about how he doesn't know why the hell he came, now that she's so close and sucking up the atmosphere he needs to think rationally and play it cool. She thinks about how she doesn't know why she followed, and she can feel a change in the air and it's harder for her to breathe, which makes her focus on the feelings of guilt she has for following him.

She leans against the trunk, delicately laying her dress back over her legs. She doesn't like the feeling of the tree on her bare, wet toes and instinctively moves them closer to his shoes, resting them off of the wood.

He shifts in his position, leaning away from her so that he can see all of her. They're incredibly close for comfort. Her perfume of vanilla and cinnamon is practically giving him an asthma attack, it's all he can smell. He wants to put some distance because he figures they'll eventually talk, and they do better when they can communicate with their eyes when words fail.

When she decides it's time for her to talk to him, she finds him already looking at her. There's something casual and lazy about the way he's sitting and watching her, and it's so warming and familiar that she can't help but relax.

"Hey," she offers quietly.

He smiles a small smile, looking down as he shakes his head. This was too familiar.

"Hi," he says back, locking eyes with her.

 _You could cut a knife with the tension in this little tree_ , she thinks to herself. Suddenly she wonders where the phrase comes from, and looks at him quizzically. He raises an eyebrow, curious. She thinks he must know where it comes from, but she doesn't want to open the door for any inappropriate jokes by mentioning the tension.

"So," he says finally, nodding behind them towards the town.

She swallows. Change of subject?

"So, how have you been?" she tries lightly, offering him a genuine smile.

He isn't buying it. He sees her hands fidgeting and has an impulse to grab them so she stops. She's going to destroy her cuticles, but he doesn't really have the right to touch her other than helping her up the tree. Yet.

"Well," he starts slowly, not taking his eyes off of hers. "I haven't been in any weddings lately. How about you?"

Her eyebrows furrow and she looks at her hands in her lap. He was so forward.

"I thought you weren't coming," she says quietly, glancing at him.

He purses his lips and lets his head fall a little, looking down at the ground. She knows he's mulling it over in his head before constructing a response.

"Me either," he finally admits, raising only his eyes to meet her face.

She takes a deep breath, processing. She almost smiles, because it's such a _him_ thing to say.

"You haven't by chance taken up smoking, have you?" He asks with a chuckle. She looks surprised and he reaches in his pocket, holding up the soggy pack of Marlboros.

She wrinkles her nose.

"No, sorry, I like my lungs nice and clean," she quips, a playful smile lingering in the corner of her mouth.

"You have to have _some_ kind of lung damage from all those days," he points out with a smirk.

She looks at him quizzically until what he means registers and she blushes a little.

"I was young and still thought guys who smoked were very poetic. Every sixteen year old does, don't hold that against me," she says simply, crossing her arms over her chest again.

He raises his eyebrows at her and shrugs. They spend another minute or two in an uncomfortable silence, trying to decipher who speaks next. He decides it's his turn.

"Are you going to tell me what the hell you were doing out there?" He asks, flicking his wrist toward the town again. She hears genuine curiosity in his tone, not judgment, and that allows her to unravel a little. She realizes that it wasn't really his silence that she needed, just…him.

"I have no idea," she says exasperated, all but slamming her head into the trunk of the tree. Tears swell in her eyes and he has the urge to reach out and comfort her again. He fidgets, watching the tears and mascara roll down her cheeks, and he can't help himself. He reaches out quickly and then hesitates, but before his brain can really process what his hand is doing, he's pushing her wet bangs to the side and away from her eyes.

She looks at him sideways and for a second he thinks she's going to brush him off, but she doesn't, she just swallows and wipes a tear away.

"I didn't mean anything bad by inviting you," she begins, taking a deep breath. He knows a Gilmore ramble is coming and gets comfortable, keeping his eyes on her. "It just felt so wrong to exclude you. Even though I was really crappy when we last saw each other, I just couldn't imagine something else important happening and you missing it again."

He winces, hearing all of the unspoken things in her words. He had missed a lot, and it stemmed from a stupid decision at eighteen. But he knows she doesn't mean it to sting, so he stays silent, nodding at her to continue.

"And then when you didn't return the invitation, I didn't know what to make of it, you know? I figured you weren't coming but I guess I hoped you would. Because I've gotten used to adult-you just showing up and surprising me and making sense of everything around me."

He is quiet about her small confession at needing him, and he allows himself a few seconds to feel this. She chokes back some tears, suddenly feeling embarrassed that she's sobbing in front of him.

"I don't know why I'm crying," she mutters. "I mean it's supposed to be the happiest day of my life, right?"

He knows it's a rhetorical question, but he sees such a pleading look in her eyes that he feels moved to affirm her.

"You're crying because it's important, Rory. It _is_ supposed to be a big day," he offers, his eyes softening. He notices a stray leaf in her hair and pulls it out, holding it up for her to see before discarding it. She chuckles before responding bitterly.

"It is a big day. It's a _huge_ day. And there I am, sitting there freaking out about having to go out in front of everyone. Especially Logan's family! I can just see them scoffing in their stupid suits and fancy dresses, talking about how ridiculous it is that he's chosen somebody like me to enter the family," she sneers, lifting her hands in disgust.

"They'd be so lucky," he mutters quietly, mostly to himself. But Rory heard him and thinks about how he used past tense when he spoke.

"Why did you say that?"

"What?"

"Why did you say they _would_ be so lucky? Why not they _are_ so lucky?"

He looks at her before running his hands over his face. He suddenly feels really cold and registers that she probably is too. He takes off his jacket and offers it to her. She's hesitant but takes it and wraps it around her shoulders. It smells like smoke and cologne, some scent that smells like a warm spice that she can't place. She eyes him, watching him shift in a shirt that is beautifully plastered against his body. She wonders when he started wearing this new smell.

"Because it doesn't seem as though you're gonna marry the prick," he finally exhales, looking back to her face. He says it so simply and casually that Rory really isn't sure what to make of it.

"Logan's not a prick, Jess," she says protectively, instinctively.

This also feels familiar - defending the guys in her life that others judged. It felt like a reflex.

Rory shrinks in discomfort from the fierce look he gives her. She suddenly remembers the few exposures Jess had had with Logan and realizes that he _had_ been nothing _but_ a prick to him. She suddenly sees her mom in him and she almost has to hold back a laugh at how ironic that is.

He watches emotions run over her face, but he doesn't loosen up until it goes back to a pained look of understanding. Jess sees in her eyes that she gets it so he doesn't push it, which she is grateful for.

"How do you know I'm not going to marry him?" she asks intently. He can tell she's genuinely curious. "How do you know I haven't just had a major freak out and once I figure my head out from talking to you that it'll be game over, you know, like those shirts where the wife figurine is dragging the groom figurine away from a television?"

"Whoa, slow down," he says, throwing his hands up to make her slow down. She's speaking at him rapidly, in a way that only a Gilmore can.

"It's just, you're sitting here with me in a tree. On your wedding day," he says pointedly, raising his eyebrows slightly at her. "When really," he adds, crinkling his eyes and nodding towards town, "you probably should have followed your fiance inside."

At this, a stream of tears make a home on Rory's cheeks. Jess just lets her cry, picking at a leaf.

"So can I ask you again?" he asks after a moment of silence. She looks at him sullenly.

He throws the leaf, now crumpled and ripped, out of the tree.

"What the hell were you doing out there?"

Rory sighs again and shakes her head, looking at him sadly.

"You've never felt trapped by what you thought was right, even if it felt wrong?"

At this he freezes, shivering a little. He distracts himself by adjusting his jacket on her shoulders. This proves to be more of a distraction than he'd bargained for because she'd shifted closer when she lay her head against the trunk, and they are dangerously close. Their faces are close enough to breathe each other in, barely millimeters from melting lips into each other if they wanted. The pit of his stomach clenches, and her heart feels like it's bursting out of her chest, making them both feel something they thought was past them.

"Yeah, I have," he says quietly, looking into her eyes.

She swallows and looks down, breaking their eye contact. Somehow his words feel like an apology, but she doesn't want to think about what eighteen year old Jess did to her teenage self. It's behind them, she reasons.

"Then you know why I was out there," she says knowingly, smiling. "He's so great you know?" Jess rolls his eyes but she gives him a challenging look as she continues. "He provides for me. He got me through that storm when my mom and I weren't talking… well," she says mostly to herself, sneaking a glance at him while he isn't watching her, "he got me through some of it. He's romantic when it counts, and he's never afraid to apologize. I mean, that's so rare to find."

He won't look at her. He's regretting this conversation a little, but he's trying not to take anything personally. It's not her fault that his screw ups made her appreciate something in somebody else.

"He's kind and gentle, and in other ways he can make me so happy," she sighs gently. "And he's one of the only people who can go toe to toe with me about books."

"But not the only," Jess smirks.

She looks at him from the side, not moving her head, and gives him a small smirk of her own.

"No," she agrees, "not the only one."

Jess sighs and runs his hands through his hair.

"Okay, so he's really great. Then why are you here?" He asks, trying to sound casual as he props his elbow up on a spare branch, as if he has no stake in this. He rests his cheek on his fist to look at her.

"I guess I needed to talk to you," she shrugs, turning as much as she can to face him now.

"What great wisdom can I offer you?"

"I don't know if I should be getting married, Jess. And it's my wedding day. I nearly had a panic attack standing up there. Every time Logan smiled at me, it should have made me giddy with joy, and it did for a moment, but the feeling died so quickly. I swear I started to see _Dean_ with the way the butterflies kept going to sleep. This is supposed to be the big day, a great day, a happy day, and I'm sitting in a tree with my ex-boyfriend because I'm more at peace here than I would be next to the man I agreed to marry. _God_!"

She throws her face in her hands as her own words, frustrated and vulnerable and nauseous. Jess is quiet, watching her break down. He doesn't feel like she's done, so he waits for her to continue speaking.

"He's never been perfect. Oh, he's made plenty of mistakes, sure. But he's been good to me and it kills me to think that if we don't get married, he won't be in my life. Because I love what we had going, before all of this. But the last year of planning and stressing and pretending to smile has been exhausting, and I feel like the heartbreak of walking away is a lot less painful than figuring out two years down the road in a new state with like, a fetus inside of me that this isn't the life I want."

Now she's rambling and crying, and he figures she's too caught up in her head. He can't think of anything constructive to say, and some of the thoughts he doesn't want to process right now. He just knows it's Rory and she needs somebody, and she chose to run after him for comfort. He sighs and reaches an arm out.

Rory looks up and stares at his arm. She debates in her head whether they can both fit on that side, and what it means to be close to her ex-boyfriend on her wedding day, and all of her thoughts spin in her head. She's dizzy and acts instinctively, slowly scooting towards him. After all, she followed _him_ , didn't she?

Jess sees the trepidation in her movements and grips her as soon as she makes a move, helping her over to him. She sits next to him on his half of the bare trunk and he holds her close, willing his heartbeat to slow down. He's really just trying to comfort her, nothing more, and he doesn't want the alarms that go off whenever she's close to alert her to something it's not meant to be.

He pulls her in closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and rests his head on hers. He doesn't really care that her hair is still wet. He just relaxes into her, rubbing small circles on her shoulder.

"Do you want to get married to Logan, Rory?" He asks quietly. "Do you yourself coming home to him in five, ten, twenty years down the line?"

Rory doesn't look at him, but he feels her shudder against his chest.

"I don't think... no," she whispers, choking out sobs.

"Okay," he says into her hair, wondering where to go from here.


	3. Has she told you lately

The pair had sat there in silence, save for Rory's hyperventilating not long after she'd come to the conclusion that today wouldn't be her wedding day after all. Jess sporadically checks his watch, frowning every time.

The more time that passes, the more crap he figures the woman sniffling next to him will have to deal with when she makes her appearance at the Dragonfly.

He didn't know his role, other than supportive friend right now. He also didn't know what this meant for them, if there was to be a them. He scowls, frustrated with himself for even thinking about that.

He hadn't been pining over her, but now that she was in his arms again, the feelings he'd allowed to lay dormant somewhere came bubbling up. It was impossible to stop that once it started, he knows from past experiences. And given another opportunity, he might go for something. But this isn't the time or place, and certainly not for the first time since meeting her, he wishes these feelings would fall over a bridge and die.

Jess sighs, runs his free hand over his face, and gently nudges Rory with his shoulder. It falls on her shoulder blade and she looks up at him, pushing herself off of his chest. He looks at her sympathetically and she clears her throat, darting her eyes to anywhere but his face.

She busies herself with smoothing out her wedding dress, frowning at all of the wrinkles. Neither of the two were completely dry, especially not after being stuck to each other for the last twenty minutes. Rory sighs and rubs her shoulders absently, thinking about her next move.

It's from doing that that she realizes she's still wearing his jacket, still breathing in his scent that she can only think to describe as intoxicating, and she shifts, trying to wiggle the jacket off of her shoulders.

Jess's eyes soften and he chuckles, scooting up an inch to assist. Time seems to slow down as he gently pulls the jacket down her shoulders, revealing her slim, open back. His eyes darken as other thoughts swim into his mind and he shakes his head, willing them to disappear. As if he hadn't seen a girl's bare shoulders before.

Unfortunately, Rory feels it in the moment, too. She closes her eyes as he pulls the jacket slowly off her shoulders, shivering more from the way his fingers lightly brush her skin than the cold. It feels like a cool electricity shooting along her back, and she looks back at him over her shoulder.

They lock eyes, not dissimilar to how they had when they were teenagers, and the air feels heavy again. Jess knows he needs to be the sensible one here because Rory is vulnerable, and he hates all of this and regrets coming.

Who was _he_ to crash her wedding, anyway? This was the audacity of seventeen year old Jess, who had taken a foot whenever she'd given him an inch in spite of having a boyfriend. It wasn't who he was now, and he never wanted to let himself be that guy again to her. It hadn't ended well the first time around.

 _You're the one who knows her best_ , his subconscious fires at him. Jess sighs. From dating to kicking her butt about Yale, he _did_ feel he knew her in a way nobody else could. But that alone didn't give him any right to Rory, even if sometimes his mind told him otherwise.

"Do you need help down?" He forces himself to ask.

Rory shakes her head and smiles, thankful that he's taking control of things. It felt nice to not have to be the totally level-headed one. She scoots to the edge of the tree and clings to a branch as she brings herself down. Jess is immediately behind her, and he instinctively reaches an arm, grabbing Rory's shoulder to help steady her.

They're both painfully aware of what touching each other can elicit in both of them, but this is innocent, so Rory lets him assist her down and watches him slide down in front of her.

"So—you ready?" Jess asks gently, gesturing towards the town in the distance.

Rory takes a deep breath and nods, looking at him.

He looks at her almost sympathetically, but there's something else in his eyes. There's always something else there, she realizes, and this gives her some confidence. Something that she knows for certain.

"Did I ever tell you how I first got into Emily Dickinson?" Rory asks suddenly as they begin walking back.

Jess smiles at Rory's non-answer to his question.

"No, I don't think you have."

* * *

"Did she say where she was going?" Lane asks, huddled off to the side with Sookie and Lorelai.

Lorelai bites her lip, not really sure whether she should spill. She considered that Lane was Rory's best friend and knew more about the ins and outs of her relationship with Logan.

"Has Rory ever mentioned Jess?" Lorelai whispers, huddling closer to the two women.

Lane looks from Lorelai to Sookie with a perplexed look on her face.

"Not really? I mean, she mentioned him months ago when his second open house happened, and then again when he denied her invitation, but nothing newsworthy," Lane answers thoughtfully, furrowing her eyebrows in concentration.

Lane snaps her eyes up at Lorelai.

"Wait, why are you bringing up Jess?" She asks, her volume louder than it should be.

"Shh!" Lorelai hisses, looking over her shoulder to where Logan is pacing with his friends.

"I saw her run after him," Lorelai admits.

Lane makes a face.

"Wait, you saw her run after Jess? Jess is here? _I_ didn't see Jess, how did _you_ see Jess?" Lane asks rapid fire, hints of incredulous demand in her voice.

"You didn't see Jess? I thought that's why we broke out the show!"

"I saw a very freaked out Rory!"

"Yes, who was very freaked out because she saw Jess on top of her nerves," Lorelai admits, nodding.

"And here I just thought Rory needed a moment to think, not to run after Jess," Lane muses to herself. "I'm a terrible best friend! I had no idea she was hung up on Jess."

Lorelai winces at the suggestion, having few positive memories of the guy.

"Rory is hung up on Jess?" Sookie asks worriedly.

"Oh my _gosh_ , Sookie, Lane! She isn't hung up on Jess," Lorelai sighs in exasperation. At least she hoped not. It had been years since Jess had been a hooligan hurting her daughter, but hating him had become a hobby. Old habits died hard.

Sookie looks between the two women and sighs.

"Well, what do we do now? She's been gone for a while," she says with worry, looking over to Logan, who had now turned his attention to their group huddle.

"10 o clock! 10 o clock!" Sookie hisses, shaking her hands to get their attention.

"What's that mean?" Lane gives Sookie a face. "Oh, crap," Lane mutters, eyes widening.

"What are you inpatients talking about?" Lorelai demands, before she hears a voice behind her.

"Lorelai?" Logan asks, tapping her shoulder.

Lorelai freezes and whips around, a sweet smile plastered on her face. Logan isn't buying the smile and gives her a look.

"Can we talk?" He asks, eyebrows furrowing. "Please?"

Lorelai inhales sharply and smiles, linking her arm with his to walk him away from the girls.

"Of course, future son-in-law," she says lightheartedly.

A pang of guilt rang through her. Rory didn't have to mention much, but if Lorelai knew anything, she knew coffee and her daughter. She had no great confidence in calling Logan her future son-in-law, she realized that as soon as the words were out of her mouth. But she also knew that this was Rory's moment to spoil, not hers. And for all she knew, Rory just wanted to talk things over with Jess. Maybe get some clarity.

Lorelai rolls her eyes at herself and it takes all she has not to scoff. Like that boy had ever done anything other than confuse her daughter.

They end up in the kitchen, away from the mass of people. Logan frowns as he looks at their wedding cake, tall and white against the backdrop of color in the Dragonfly.

He turns on his heel abruptly and stares at Lorelai, searching her face. Lorelai shifts uncomfortably, not feeling unlike a teenager again.

"Where is she, Lorelai?" Logan finally asks, leaning against the counter.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Lorelai shrugs, leaning against the island counter.

"Lorelai," Logan drags out her name. "You know Rory better than anyone I've ever met. You're freakishly connected. You know where she is or at least where she would have gone," he adds persistently.

Lorelai sighs and looks at this young man in front of her, desperate and confused.

"I might have an idea," she admits quietly.

"Well where?" He asks desperately. "Where is she?"

"Logan, hon, I really think you need to let her come to you," Lorelai insists, pulling the corsage off her wrist.

Logan stares at her, searching her face. Lorelai doesn't look away; her heart is breaking for these two kids who love each other. She knows Rory loves Logan, and she knows Logan is in love with Rory. But love and in love are two very different things, and she wishes her daughter had realized it sooner so that Logan wasn't standing before her like this.

He seems to find what he's looking for and he looks down, swallowing a lump threatening to lodge in his throat.

"She _will_ come back, right?" He asks, eyes still on the floor. He looks up at her from his position and it looks familiar, this brokenness. She frowns; it reminds her of Jess.

Lorelai bites her lip and nods, forcing a smile. "Of comes she will. She lives here," she jokes, already knowing it will fall flat.

"Okay," he says slowly, shoving his hands in his pocket. "I'll be upstairs where you had me changing. Please, please tell her to come to me?"

Lorelai nods as he exits, leaving her to stand in the kitchen alone.

Lorelai sighs heavily and walks over to the window, crossing her arms against her chest.

"Where are you, kid?" She asks aloud to nobody in particular.

* * *

 **AN** : I'm SO sorry this is so late. I was SO STUCK on how to continue this and I knew I needed to just get it up. That's why it's significanrly shorter than other chapters. I'm going to work my way through updating all the stories, but my newest will get the most attention to get it established. Pease check out _Taming Hemingway_ and _You Can't Protest Everything_ \- my two newer fan fictions (YPCE is my newest) - and _Overdose_ , a oneshot. :) Thanks in advance for any reviews!


	4. What wonders rain can do

Jess chuckles, shaking his head.

"There's few things I'd pay to see, but Rory Gilmore meeting Christianne Amanpour in her pajamas is one of them."

"Stop!" She scolds, playfully swatting at his arm, turning ever so slightly to face him as they walk. "I wasn't _that_ much of a spaz."

"If you say so," Jess says with a shrug, the smallest of smiles gracing his lips. It did make him happy to know that she'd finally met her idol, but the smallest of pains tugged at his heart, knowing that this was only one of many semi-major events in her life he'd pushed himself out of.

"Don't you have any wild stories?" She asks suddenly, nudging him. He'd gone quiet, deep in thought. "I mean, you work at a publishing house. You must have some."

A smirk tugs at his lips.

"Chris accidentally mugged Ta-Nehisi Coates," he offers.

"Stop. How does that even happen?" Rory asks, laughing.

He begins to relay the story, but Rory finds herself not listening and instead watching him talk, watching him move. This person who grew up in her absence, who didn't lose any part of his teenaged self but simply refined him, matured him. She still sees the seventeen year old who flirted with her shamelessly and debated books with her, the eighteen year old who had Yahoo'd 22.8 miles between them, who'd left before he'd let himself fall in love with her. It is in watching the animated way he responds to her, engaged but contained, charismatic but lazy, that Rory feels a piece of herself shift. It is in listening to his laughter that she realizes how silent her life has been without it.

"Rory?"

She snaps out of it, and when she looks at him again, he looks concerned.

"Sorry, I just…" Just what? She isn't sure what she wants to say, how much she wants to reveal. Did she even have a right to tell him what she was feeling, after all they'd been through? After all she'd been through with Logan? _God, Logan_.

"Just…?" Jess ducks his head, forcing her to make eye contact with him again. She looks like she's been sucker punched, and he quickly discerns that something is going on inside of her that has nothing to do with his anecdote.

Instead of answering him, Rory hugs her arms to her chest and looks behind them, where the Dragonfly is now in sight, a billowing beam of all that awaits her.

They'd taken their time getting there, and now that the weights of what she's done and what she has to do are looming over her, Rory suddenly feels overwhelmed. Overwhelmed that she has to have this conversation with Logan, with the entire town. With his stupid family who will only use this as fire to fuel their class-based disapproval of her.

Rory looks back at Jess and feels the tears coming. This, too, is overwhelming; Jess, his presence. And overwhelmed that once she leaves him, that will be it. And for some reason, perhaps because she has felt transported into her teenaged self in the last hour of conversation, the panic that has always been synonymous with loving Jess and not knowing whether she was enough to keep him rushes her like a football player, knocking the wind out of her.

What a terrible person she was, crying over something she had orchestrated, leaning into the warmth and strength of somebody she'd loved, lost, and pushed out the door once he'd come back to her. She had no right to Jess, no claim, yet being in his presence was stirring up something potent. It wasn't just what she had to go do; it was that, once she left him, he would go again. He would leave and ghost, as he did every time, and she would be left to pick up the mess alone, without his guidance.

Feelings of lack bubble up inside of Rory. Not enough to have kept Jess and maybe, just maybe, somewhere down the road never even having to be in this place she finds herself in. Not enough to keep Logan, who, for all of the wonderful things she's said about him and believes about him, still slips up, lets her find remnants of perfume she would never wear on his clothes. Not enough to stick it out and make a commitment to anyone. And Jess, with his eyes looking at her full so much love, so much concern, just sends her into a greater frenzy.

"Hey," he says gently, ignoring his earlier resolve yet again to stay away. He reaches up his hands and, using both of his thumbs, tenderly brushes the tears from the corners of her ocean blue eyes. His touch ignites her skin, sends rivers of fire up and down her body, nestling into places she forgot he had access to.

"You can do this, Rory," Jess assures her, as if reading her mind. Rory chokes back a sob and looks into his brown orbs, really looking at him. How he always seemed to know her so well, when she had no idea who she even was, would forever elude her.

"Jess, why are you still so nice to me?" She asks, taking a step back from his windshield wiper thumbs, shaking her head to forget the roughness of his skin, the heat that his touch brings her.

He cocks his eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Where do I remember this from?" He asks, a playfulness in his voice. Rory cocks her head before smiling, remembering.

"Jess?" She persists, looking at him through dark lashes. He sighs deeply, blowing out air through his mouth. He runs a hand through his hair before reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, a reflex. He scowls when he feels the soggy box, a casualty of the now-clearing storm. It was barely spitting outside anymore.

"Why are you even asking, Rory? Can't I just be there for you when you're upset?" He asks tiredly.

 _Why_ are _you even asking, Rory?_ She doesn't know. She just feels lost and sad and scared, feels like she's not the person he thinks she is. And those overwhelming feels of lack and selfishness keep nipping at her like fire ants along her ankles.

"I don't deserve it," she explains, shaking her head. "What have I done to warrant any of your kindness tonight? Choose Dean over you? Logan over you? Lead you on to get back at Logan? What have I done in the last five years to even think I had the right to invite you to my _wedding_? Like, hey Jess, sorry that I kissed you when you clearly had unresolved feelings for me, won't you come to my wedding a few years later, please? I'm so selfish."

She isn't crying anymore, doesn't have the tears left, but her face is red with frustration and sadness, she's sure. He looks conflicted, and she can see him clenching his jaw, choking on words he isn't ready to share.

After what feels like a lifetime, and is really maybe only a handful of seconds, he turns away and then turns back to her, looking defeated, tired, and… something she can't quite put her finger on.

"You don't deserve it," he tells her. _Wow, Jess – 1, Rory – 0_ , she thinks miserably to herself. Hearing it confirmed from him was like a blow to the stomach, even if she'd opened up her defenses to be hit.

"Then—"

"I'm not done," he cuts her off firmly, grinding his foot into the mud. She shuts up, waiting. Somewhere in the back of her mind's eye she notices the rain is picking up again, but she's too numb to really focus on that and is instead staring at his lips, begging him to continue.

"You don't deserve it, but you sure as hell didn't deserve the way I handled things. I told you before, it is what it is, you and me. We can't change the way we've treated each other and honestly, I've spent too much time beating myself up over walking out on you that this is the least I can do."

"Jess, you've more than made up for that," Rory insists, shaking her head.

"Have I?" He asks seriously, closing the distance between them. "I never even told you why I left, not all of it."

"You're always here when I need you, Jess. You weren't when we dated, and while I wish you had explained, since then you've stepped up to the plate. I can't thank you enough for all you've done, and I just can't understand why you keep showing up when I'm down in the count."

"Do I really need to spell it out?" Jess flares suddenly, clear frustration in his voice.

 _Coming was a bad idea_. He says this over and over in his head, turning away from Rory and walking in a small circle. He feels called out like that day he outbid Bagboy for her basket, except this time, there was a history between them. There's a history of mistakes, unshared feelings, of leaving her before he got left. The feelings of loss were raging inside of him, threatening to burst out, and that wasn't what Rory needed. But God damn if she didn't know how to get a rise out of him.

He looks at her desperately and sees the understanding in her eyes. And truthfully, she doesn't need him to spell it out, he knows that. She just needs something to hold onto, something that she trusts. She's vulnerable, he tells himself, and hearing validation that she isn't a terrible human being is what she needs.

It winds him to think that his love for her - the love that has made him fail in relationships time after time, the love that he tries daily to bury and had, until that stupid wedding invitation, been quelling quite nicely – is what she is using to keep herself grounded. And it winds him too that, for once, this scenario is reversed.

Rory feels ashamed of herself, shaking her head. No, it wasn't fair of her to do this to him, to make him dig up old feelings for her so that she could feel less guilty about hers surfacing for him.

"No," she whispers, shaking her head, taking in a deep breath. She looks again at the Dragonfly, then back at Jess, and finally feels the raindrops on her. But it's only from watching his dark curls, which had begun to dry and frame his face, become plastered onto his forehead again, falling in his eyes.

"I'm always gonna be here, Rory," Jess tells her, looking at her through intense, dark eyes. "It's just how we work."

Rory purses her lips and feels tears escaping again. Before she can reply, there's another crack above them and she jumps. Like the superhero he always tends to be for her, Jess ushers her onward, remaining behind in the grass as she makes it onto the gravel, her heels sinking into the pebbles.

"Jess?" She calls, raising her voice above the rain.

"Go ahead, you'll be okay," he calls back, waving her onwards.

"But—"

"I'll be okay too," he assures her, offering her a smile.

He nods at her and turns away, heading back across the lawn because he knows that somewhere over there, his car is waiting for him. Feeling like he dodged a massive lump of Kryptonite, he closes his eyes, letting the rain crash over him.

Rory watches him leave and that panic sets in again. It felt like the very ground beneath her was spinning away from her, and then she's seventeen again, watching him lie to her about calling her later, watching the bus leave that she now knows will never bring him back. She moves on instinct, the way one recalls riding a bike even after years of staying off the pedals. She grips the back of his jacket and pulls him, crushing her body to his chest in an embrace.

He is surprised, and it takes him a moment but, just like in the tree, Jess lets nature take its course. He twists to face her and allows himself to be hugged, resting his head on top of hers, letting her burrow into his neck.

"Rory," Jess yells, trying to address her over the roar of the rain. How the hell did the storm cloud move on them so quickly? She mumbles something into his neck which he only feels by way of vibration, and he rests his cheek against hers, listening.

"Don't go, Jess," she repeats louder, realizing he can't hear her. He moves his face away from hers and shakes her gently, forcing her to look up at him.

He sees tears mixing with the rain, and he feels all the progress he's made, all the years working through his feelings for her, slip away from him like a guest who left without saying goodbye. It feels bitter, ironic, and freeing all at once to hear her asking him to stick around.

"Okay," he assures her, looking down into her eyes. Rory's eyes are frantic, looking back and forth, dipping deeper and deeper into his, searching for something. Maybe to see if he would really stay.

Rory determines in her hysteria that Jess isn't lying, that for once, he wouldn't take off into the night. This grounds her and gives her confidence for the first time all day. She nods at him and gives his arm a squeeze before grabbing the sides of her dress and running back the way she'd come.

She pauses for a second and turns back, letting her newfound confidence settle in the pit of her belly as she looks at him. The realness of why this day was so wrong, why this afternoon was so right, settles in on top of it, balancing like a ball.

"I guess deep down, I always thought it'd be you," she says finally, smiling. He can't hear this but he reads her lips. Swallowing the bitter pill he'd been holding under his tongue for months, ever since seeing the wedding invitation, he forces a smile. He feels this way, too. He'd never saw himself lasting with anyone until she'd come into his life; she had been his small glimmer of what a future could look like.

Jess watches her go, this runaway bride, and blows out a hot breath. He purses his lips, shakes his head, and takes off for his car.

Maybe this afternoon had shown him that ship hadn't hit an iceberg and sank. After all, she'd run to him and not Logan, hadn't she? She'd asked him not to leave, which could only mean she wasn't planning on spending the night with Logan, or any other night in the immediate future. And finally, in a well marinated meal, had served him something special, something he'd never thought he'd get from her again: the idea that somewhere she'd imagined a future with him, and somehow, in some way, that fantasy had stopped her from going through with this wedding.

 _Don't get your hopes up_ , his subconscious warns. And he knows this, but her words linger in his head.

Jess picks up speed, his only objective to get into his vehicle and blast some band that Luke would hate, hoping that the bass would be so loud that he couldn't hear his rusty heart churning with the beat of new life she'd just offered him.

* * *

 **Sorry if this is too mushy/a jump from the old chapters. The only ideas that came for this story involved a lot of feelings, and so..**


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